Flutters and Contradictions
by IcelandGirl812
Summary: Pretending and thundering. Bold and numb. Make-believe and fire. Rectangles and wings. For Rya.
1. Flutter

**A/N: Yesh, I'm addicted to drabbles. And writing them for people I love. Honestly doesn't bother me. This will be two different stories, each three drabbles/chapters a pop.  
**

**For you, my beloved Bewby, on this here V-day. Which is not Virgin-Day, by the by.**** Tis for you for so many reasons it's mildly insane. I love you to bits smaller than atoms.**

**Lisa, my Basil (just go with it), thank you. An unending, wordless amount.**

**Disclaimer: What doesn't belong to me, belongs to the Meyer-machine.**

* * *

If I was a bird, I'd never sit perched anywhere.

Not when he's around.

Not when I _know_ he's out there.

Know he's mine.

I'd always be flying.

Flying, flying, flying.

My wings would always be going.

Always fluttering.

Mimicking me. My whole body. My everything.

My stomach.

_Flutter._

My eyes, lids, lashes.

_Flutter._

My muscles.

_Flutter._

My hands.

_Flutter._

My breath.

_Flutter._

And my heart.

_Flutter._

But he's _not_ around.

Maybe he's not even out there at all, anymore.


	2. Know

**Disclaimer: Most of this is mine, the rest is SMeyer's.**

* * *

"He's not coming back."

"I know."

"So stop wishing he would."

"I can't."

"You don't even know where he is."

"I know."

"You don't even know if he's alive!"

"I know."

"You don't even know if he'd still want you."

"I know."

"You can't live your entire life just... just waiting for him!"

"I know."

"It's not right."

"I know."

"Then change it!"

"I can't."

"You _can_. You can do anything you want. Which is get over him."

"I know."

"He's not even real, for fuck's sake!"

"I know."

"He's just this thing you conjured."

"I know."

"You didn't even know him at all!"

"I know."

"How can you be so stuck on someone you don't really know? It's not right."

"I know."

"You're not even _you_ anymore!"

"I know."

"Don't you... Don't you want yourself back? Want to get over him? Be normal and _you_ again?"

"I don't know."


	3. Wings

**Disclaimer: I own these words, not Twilight.**

* * *

I pretend.

It's easy.

I pretend he gives me what I want, what I need.

Even though _he_'s the only one to ever approach such fulfilling.

And he isn't _him_.

He doesn't make me flutter.

Nothing of me flutters around him.

Only _him_.

But I pretend just the same.

Because I can't _not_.

Because _he_'s gone.

Because _he_ never really was.

I pretend for years.

On and on and on, always pretending.

Sometimes it works.

Sometimes I even believe it.

But then it breaks around me, crack and fissure and shatter.

And I _remember_.

Remember the pretending.

Remember a time without it.

Remember flutters.

Remember how _he_ caused them.

And remember _he_'s not here.

Or there.

Or anywhere.

_He_ never was.

But he _is_.

It's not enough.

Not anymore.

I stop pretending.

My wings don't flutter, but they're _free_.

I can almost convince myself it's enough.

For now, it's alright.

I don't flutter.

Nor do I pretend.

Between them, I find adequacy.

Outside of it, I still dream of flutters.

Of _him_.

In it all, I crave escape.

Give in, pick somewhere.

Work toward it, buy my way there.

The wings lift me, stomach shaking and squirming.

So close to _his_ flutter.

But nowhere near close enough.

I settle, smile, gaze.

Anticipation.

I'm excited, surprised by it.

A voice. Loud. Crackling.

Speakers. Instructing, reassuring, informing.

Polite, distantly smiling, professional.

_Flutter_.


	4. Contradiction

**A/N: Here starts the second story, which doesn't have anything to do with the first.**

**Disclaimer: This is mine and not, heh.**

* * *

He tastes like cocoa powder, and everything that is right with the world.

But he moves like sin.

Intense and alluring and seductive and oh so tempting.

And he feels like heaven.

He's a graceful contradiction. Something I find ridiculously fitting.

Frighteningly apt.

Because he turns me into that contradiction, effortlessly pulls me to his dark, contradictory side.

He makes me want to be near him and continents away.

Emboldens me yet turns me into a coward.

Draws me out and pushes me alive; makes me wish I was numb to all feeling.

He is everything. And nothing.

I want him to be neither, both, either.

I want all. And none.

He strolled straight into the rectangle of my life, turning everything.

He turned it upside down, right side up; he turned it vibrant, made it dull; he turned around all my thoughts, yet cleared them.

He is Contradiction.

And I am helpless, strong.


	5. Want

**Disclaimer: Some mine, some SMeyer's.**

* * *

"I want you."

"You can't have me."

His teeth sink into me, tender and aggressive. "You're just saying that."

"I'm just meaning that."

His hand moves down my chest, across my stomach, destination clear, pace slow but swift. "Your words and your body are contradicting."

I freeze and heat, shocked he can read my thoughts without doing so. "I don't contradict. It's useless energy."

My words are lies.

I know, and can tell he does too by the way his eyes smirk, mouth a sober line.

"So let's use that energy for... something different."

His palm is hot, fingers cold.

He stays stationary but for his lips, moving across my clavicles and anywhere he can reach.

Frustrated, I bend toward his ear, roughly bite his neck, thrill at the surprise of his breath leaving him.

"Don't tempt me. You're playing with fire." But his eyes beg me to do just that, to grab a bag of matchbooks and jump straight into the flames.

My mouth whispers across his jaw. "I like fire."

"You've never known this kind of fire."

I know he's right.

I've never even come close, not to the fire or the rest of what he emanates, gives, rouses.

That knowledge exhilarates, terrifies.

More contradictions. I hate it, them; adore.

I can clearly see the warning in his eyes, his words, his voice.

But his lips and his _body_ tell me differently.

Arching to him is my answer, my choice of what I'm listening and heeding to.


	6. All

**Disclaimer: Still mine, still not. Still sad this is over.**

* * *

He fucks me with his gaze in the middle of class, his smile innocent, eyes anything and everything but.

I glance away from the lecture to his mouth as it forms words.

My focus loses itself in his hands and fingers as he spells his point with them.

_c-A-r_

I shake my head, body wanting nothing more than to dash out of the room with him.

His chin juts out, eyebrows expressing something opposite the annoyed surprise of that movement.

For a suffocating forty minutes after that, my skin hums and tingles with the force of his eyes. Though I never drift to him again.

When we're dismissed, I leave the room quickly, but stroll slowly away from it.

Wanting him to catch up to me.

Dreading that.

I can't even process it before I'm stumbling over my feet, into darkness, heart a thumping percussion, a click, dingy light quivering on.

Back colliding with a metal rack, painful; his front sliding into mine, staggering.

My body heats, mind cools.

One hand grips the shelf behind me, anchoring me. The other grabs at him, unraveling me.

His mouth is on my shoulder, hindrances shoved away, chin scraping openly against my chest.

The contrast of his soft lips and bristly jaw spins me.

He can sense what he does to me, repeats it purposefully.

"I haven't shaved since Saturday."

I recognize the significance, still and lurch at it.

_Almost a week_.

That time is both too much and not enough.

I press forward, he shifts away.

His body declares and demands _now_, eyes enjoy the torment.

My fingers tighten; he gives in.

I want to make him taste his own medicine, but I can't.

I want to taste _him_.

He pulls, I pull, no air or space.

All of me, all of him, none of us.

"You want this."

"Yes." But it's not just a word.

His voice in my ear, inside me. "You _need_ this."

"Yes." This time it's breathier, a tone of begging.

I'm losing myself. Losing it all.

Finding only him, there.

"_Me_."

"Fuck yes!"

My outburst is thoughtless, brilliant.

His smile curves across his mouth, lighting something on fire within me.

Something that craves the water to douse it, the gasoline to burn it even more intensely.

I despise both, somehow want each.

Can't, but can.

Powerful, defenseless.

Consumed.


End file.
